stairs.

"Come, mama, I will tell him that I accept."

"I beg your pardon, sir," said the little fellow to D'Argenton, as he
opened the door; "I was very wrong in refusing your kindness. I accept
it with thanks."

"I am happy to find that reflection has taught you wisdom. But now
express your gratitude to M. Labassandre: it is he to whom you are
indebted."

The child extended his hand, which was quickly ingulfed in the enormous
paw of the artist.

This last week Jack spent in his former haunts he was more anxious
than sad, and the responsibility he felt made itself seen in two little
wrinkles on his childish brow. He was determined not to go away without
seeing Cecile.

"But, my dear, after the scene here the other day, it would not
be suitable," remonstrated his mother. But the night before Jack's
departure, D'Argenton, full of triumph at the success of his plans,
consented that the boy should take leave of his friends. He went there
in the evening. The house was dark, save a streak of light coming from
the library--if library it could be called--a mere closet, crammed with
books. The doctor was there, and exclaimed, as the door opened, "I
was afraid they would not let you come to say good-bye, my boy! It was
partially my fault. I was too quick-tempered by far. My wife scolded me
well. She has gone away, you know, with Cecile, to pass a month in the
Pyrenees with my sister. The child was not well; I think I told her of
your impending departure too abruptly. Ah, these children! we think they
do not feel, but we are mistaken, and they feel quite as deeply as we
ourselves." He spoke to Jack as one man to another. In fact, every one
treated him in the same way at present. And yet the little fellow now
burst into a violent passion of tears at the thought of his little
friend having gone away without his seeing her.

"Do you know what I am doing now, my lad?" asked the old man. "Well, I
am selecting some books that you must read carefully. Employ in this way
every leisure moment. Remember that books are our best friends. I do not
think you will understand this just yet, but one day you will do so, I
am sure. In the mean time, promise me to read them,"--the old man kissed
the boy twice,--"for Cecile and myself," he said, kindly; and, as the
door closed, the child heard him say, "Poor child, poor child!"

The words were the same as at the Jesuits' College; but by this time
Jack had learned why they pitied him. The n